True Stories from the strange and fascinating psych of a woman

Pheremones, Hormones and babies…..

Love mystifies me…. I talk to many people from all walks of life, asking them on their matters of love. For we all seem to need it, like food, like sleep, like water…. All searching for it…

I have never been clucky, I mean, maybe when I was 16 and wanted to be a single mum in a kombi van with a border collie, daughter and a guitar… but for the last 13 years, I haven’t. I’ve actually been “anti-baby” and seriously considered not having kids at all… until this, man came swaggering by and romanced me like nobodies business.

Pheromone:An agent secreted by an individual that produces a change in the sexual or social behavior of another individual of the same species; a volatile hormone that acts as a behavior-altering agent.

It’s been 14 days now. This is the first time I’m alone. I’m on a romantic love marathon.

My bits are swollen from excessive use, my body jellied and head slightly wobbly. I’ve dropped out of the world, no longer on the Internet killing time, hardly seeing my friends. My world has been consumed by love, taken over by this man and his romantic woos that literally has sweep me off my feet.

I am 29 years 8 months and 5 days old. We’ve been having a seriously romantic escapade for the last 14 days now. He is my new addiction, my new cigarette and cup of long black with a side of honey and cardomon. He is my man in white leather Michael Jackson style jacket, white singlet, black jeans and movie star eyes, he is the swagger in my hips and the glint in my eye. He is magnetic, quiffed up, carries a comb in his back pocket with these strong muscular arms.

We went away to the country last weekend; it was our 14th date in 14 days. We had spent every spare moment together until then. Fast-talking, jumpin, jiving, lovin, dinin, dancing more talking. Time was elastic, with him, I lived nocturnal and concubine like with him. We only had so much time together so we made it count. 14 days in, and 14 days till I left for the USA to try and cast my luck on The Great American Dream.

He took me to a farm in East Gippsland. There were 2 caravans, a shed, cows and a river. There was no reception, the outside world didn’t exist, and it rained day and night. I love the sound of rain on an old tin roof. We ate salmon, drunk wine, made passionate love, slept by day and loved by night. We had breakfast in the afternoon and dinner at dawn, broke all the rules we did… I made the fire he cooked the dinner, we sung songs on cheap guitars drinking counterfeit whisky and smoking endless cigarettes. Life couldn’t get much better, wrapped up in a bubble of love and womb. Glorious. My version of heaven.

What is it about a man that can carry you, that has strong arms, that can envelope you and literally lift you of you’re feet, and make you feel light as a feather.

He smells incredible like an old chesterfield mingled with single malt whisky, smoked wood and tropical flowers.His smell drove me crazy.

It was about then that the idea of “babies” started coming up in my brain, all I could think about was having babies to this man, getting hitched and building a happy home in the country, dedicating my life to being a contented mother and housewife. It all seemed so easy, so fantastical, so right.

I could let go of all my fanciful ideas and big dreams for a while and just do what it is that women have done for eternity, making that transition from women to wife and mother.

Now I don’t know whether this feeling suddenly attacked my brain by the excessive dopamine that was flooding through my body or it could be my age. They always told me sooner or later my body clock would start tick-tocking.

I’ve met a man that is incredible, charismatic, charming, intelligent, leather-clad, dapper, strong and single and I know that this man would be able to provide for and protect my children. This cluckiness overrode all logic, realism and timing and came at me with such an urgency that I couldn’t see reasoning at all. I think my clock has started the tick-tock, screaming MAYDAY! MAYDAY!

I thought I was to be career women, only having children when I’m 35+, famous, rich, successful, have a home and a stable relationship. I had it all planned and perfectly timed so I could continue to live my self-reliant independent, fancy-free, do what I want, gypsy lifestyle that I have grown so accustomed to.

But all of sudden this animalistic urge is clawing up inside and rattelin at my soul.

In reality, the timing is terrible, I live in a shared house, I’m on Centrelink, I spend my time being another self-absorbed artist that lives in Northcote, I have no savings, I’m about to leave for overseas… But this tick tock is screaming out at me and sounding the alarm. I thought I was beyond all this biological, we are born to breed thing, a modern day woman wanting to make it big before poppin out a babe…. it makes you realise how the human race has survived this long…that clock is infecting my insides and only sees BABIES BABIES

So what do you do?

I thought I was in control of my baby-planning destiny. But can you really plan these things, is there ever good timing, or do you just make it work when it happens?